


Lyrium Shock

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Snark on the Kink Meme [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-20
Updated: 2011-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris is quite open with his friends about his recent reintroduction to the world of physical expression, prompting amazement and interest from the crowd.  K!meme prompt fill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lyrium Shock

**Author's Note:**

> The Dragon Age Kink Meme is certainly working for my purpose, which was to get me to write things outside my comfort zone. Fenders is not a pairing that generally works for me as a reader, so it’s been interesting exploring it from this side of the fence. I will admit, it was definitely a challenge to keep Fenris’s voice intact.
> 
> The prompt:
> 
>  _Fenris is usually written as being tight-lipped about sex, especially compared to Isabela, Hawke, and Anders. What I want is Fenris talking frankly and explicitly about his casual sexual encounter(s) at the Rose or with Isabela to everyone while playing cards at the Hanged Man._
> 
>  _Anders finds it incredibly difficult to concentrate with Fenris putting such images into his head. Bonus points if he actually does something more about it than just going home and wanking._
> 
> And now the fill. Reviews and comments are always welcome!  
> 
> 
> * * *

The sounds of a bawdy ballad – slurred beyond comprehension, but what else could it be? – carried up the stairs and through the open door to Varric’s reserved rooms in the Hanged Man.  Cards and coin slid around the table in equal turn.  The stakes were friendly, but as always, Wicked Grace was more about setting up the week’s bragging rights for the players than who took home how much.

Which was why several of those gathered were exceedingly frustrated.  For what had to be the first time ever, Anders was leading the luck charge, even managing to pull a win out of a hand Isabela _knew_ she had stacked in her favor.

Varric presided over it all, his chair at the head of the table and his writing desk in easy reach in case anyone said anything interesting.

“This just isn’t right,” Hawke muttered into her tankard.  “Anders is supposed to be terrible at this.”

Ruffled, Anders shot a glance down the table as he shuffled the cards.  “ _Just_ because I’m generally exhausted from a day in the clinic, thank you.”

“This is why I keep telling you,” Isabela wagged a finger as she spoke, “it’s only for the good of the clinic if you shake something loose from your operating budget now and again to be… operated on at the Rose.  All that stress has got to be a powerful distraction from your patients, and I can certainly vouch for the recharging potential to be found there.”

“Not likely,” the healer scoffed, beginning to deal the next hand.  “Some days, half my patients were customers there a few days before, or will be employed there the night of.  I rather like to avoid scratching one itch only to get another one later.”

Fenris, mouth quirked in a half-smile, offered, “They know no different, I am sure.  An extra sovereign will buy Madam Lusine’s guarantee against such nuisances.”

“I had heard about that,” the pirate mused.  “But you’ve got to take such things with a grain of salt.  Places like that, they’ll tell you anything just to get the gold shifted from your pockets to theirs.”

“And I’m sure they don’t have much of a return policy, either,” Varric added, to the amusement of most of the gathering.

“I’m missing something dirty again, aren’t I?”  Merrill’s gaze shifted between the dwarf and the pirate, those two being the most willing to explain just what she wasn’t getting.  Belatedly, she realized the action of the _game_ had passed to her as well, and she folded without even looking at her cards.

“I have never had to test the theory,” Fenris inclined his head to acknowledge Varric’s jibe as he added a handful of coins to the pot on the table.  “Her word has been sufficient in my experience.”

“Well, she _is_ a-“ Hawke stumbled over the disparaging remark she was about to make.  “What experience would that be, Fenris?  Isabela’s the only person you know who visits the Rose with any regularity that I’m aware of.”

“I should think I know myself quite well by now,” Fenris sounded moderately pleased at having caused the silver-tongued Hawke to trip over her own words.

“Wait.  Wait.”  Isabela threw down her cards as the action passed to her.  There was a much better game to be played here than Wicked Grace, it seemed.  “ _You_ have visited the Rose?  Messere ‘Get Your Hands Off Me if You Want to Keep Them’ has spent time in the brothel?  How have I never seen you there?”

“Perhaps you were otherwise engaged.  I chose to receive it as a compliment, when Jethann compared his time with me favorably against your own graces.”  The barb wouldn’t hit home, the elf knew, as discreet as the people for hire at the Rose invariably were.  But he couldn’t resist making it.

“Oh, now this I _definitely_ have to hear,” Varric said, reaching so quickly for the bottle of ink on the desk behind him that he almost lost his seat.  “I think we just eclipsed the breakout of a fire and the appearance of a goat here, and I never thought I’d live to see the day _that_ happened.”

Isabela, delighted at the dwarf’s haste, was suddenly hit full-on by a passing thought.  “Hold a moment.  Jethann?  I was certain you’d be the sort to go for a more feminine flavor, if you ever went at all.”

 “I will admit to having… tasted of the varieties available, to keep with your theme.  While I would not turn away the softer persuasions of the fairer sex, I find I much prefer a stronger companion for the bed as well as the battlefield.”  Fenris was sure the others would expect him to be uncomfortable with this line of questioning, which only made him more determined not to be.  In fact, he realized he quite enjoyed disproving the label he suspected they had placed upon him.

“I can’t be hearing this,” Hawke almost whispered, her amazement plain to the room.

“I would hardly be the first to disclose the details of such an encounter.”  The elf slanted a look at the pirate, who was known for the most explicit of the tales told over the cards in the time they’d been gathering.

“Then that means you won’t mind _disclosing_ now,” Isabela purred, shifting to the edge of her seat and sparing only half a glance at the cards Merrill whipped around the table.  Never mind what was in _her_ hand; she wanted to hear about what had been in _his_.  “What brought all this about, anyway?”

“More importantly,” Varric interrupted, “why is Aveline not here to hear about this?  We’ll have a job to do later, Rivaini.”

As Isabela turned to nod her agreement at the dwarf, she spied Anders sitting stock-still across the table from the elf, glancing at the cards in his hand but keeping his gaze primarily fixed at some undefined spot in the corner of the room.  Oh, there was such potential here.  And to think she’d almost begged off this evening to chase down another half-empty lead on that relic…

“I fail to see why my enjoyment of carnal knowledge is such a fascination to all of you.  Surely each of you have indulged from time to time.  Is it not natural that I would wish to experience the same, after having forgotten for so long?”  Fenris’s expression held an almost teasing quality.  Yes, he could learn to like scandalizing this scandalous bunch.

“This from the elf who demands personal space of at least two feet at all times,” the pirate rejoined.  “You’ve been set against close proximity with anyone since we’ve known you.  Isn’t it natural _we_ would be curious?”

“You may have a point,” Fenris conceded.  “But you were there yesterday when I required healing on the Wounded Coast.  Did you hear me utter a single complaint about the healer’s touch during that occasion?”

Anders snapped his eyes closed as the rest of the table looked in his direction.  The elf’s remark, if he squinted and looked at it sideways, might have been considered complimentary.  Mightn’t it?  Thankfully, attention was soon returned to Fenris.

Merrill had to chirp in, now.  “I’m sure I’m missing something, but… Jethann?  Wasn’t he the wavy one, you know, with the accent that wasn’t an accent?”

“His presentation may leave a little something to be desired, certainly.”  Fenris nodded, tossing away his cards.  “But all that changes when he knows what someone is after.  He is a consummate actor.  Among other things.”

“You look like you’re remembering something, there, Elf.  I’m almost afraid to ask.”  Varric refilled his mug and started to shuffle.

“You should be terrified,” Hawke corrected, at the same time as Isabela said, “I’m not!”

“What?” the pirate continued.  “None of you have ever told _me_ to cease and desist.  Not that I would in any event, mind you, but do go on.”

“It is as I said.  I enjoy a strong showing, and get exactly that, though he was also observant enough to be aware that I wanted to try a variety of things, an assortment of different touches.  If you have yet to see what he can do with a feather, Isabela, you are missing out.  Then again, that may be more effective with my anatomy than with yours.”

Once again, all eyes found Anders, who in that moment was very aware of what he wore on his shoulders.  He could only hope his uncomfortable shifting in his chair went unnoticed.

Isabela shivered dramatically.  “ _Please_ tell me you don’t mean the tattoos.”

“As you say,” Fenris replied, quirking his lips again.  “Jethann is most inventive with any number of physical sensations, particularly where the male anatomy is concerned.  Of course, I have no frame of reference for how he might similarly entertain a woman, but I am certainly content.”

“Content?”  Hawke ventured.  It had to be more than _content_ , if it prompted Fenris of all people to discuss it so openly.

“Very well.  Satisfied, if you prefer.  He certainly is not one to leave a body… wanting.”

“You know, Elf,” Varric stepped in.  “I may just have to stop you there, because I’m afraid we’re getting past even my ability to embellish.  And it’s getting late, but genius has no concept of time.”

“Oh!”  Merrill trilled, having looked around and realized the cards had stopped moving entirely.  “What happened to all of Anders’s money?  He had so much, just a minute ago.”

* * *

Fenris noted as he made his way through the darkened streets toward his borrowed Hightown mansion that the nights were just beginning to take on a hint of the chill that spoke of the season to come.  Given the tone the conversation had taken, he considered finding a way for ice to feature in his next tryst with Jethann.  That sensation would be entirely new.

Though he was distracted with his plans for the next evening, he didn’t fail to notice the shadow detaching itself from the wall at the door to his home.  His sword was free of its binding and brought halfway to bear before he recognized the blond hair and the pauldrons.  _I see someone read something into my comment about the feather.  Perhaps he should reflect on the differences between singular and plural._

“Unannounced arrival is never wise, mage.”  Fenris spoke low.

“Stepping into the light before you got close _was_ my announcement, elf.  I’d hardly show myself to just anyone, this time of night.”

“Then state your business and go.  I have no intention of returning any of the coin you lost earlier, if that is your reason for being here.”  He was certain that wasn’t why the mage was here, but he wasn’t going to ask a direct question, either.

“Of course it’s not, and you know it.  It just… occurred to me, earlier, that if you’re interested in exploring certain… sensations, you can do much better than paying for something so mundane.”

“How forward.  But you must know there are any number of unguents and such on the market that will produce better heat than any application of your healing magic.”  Though if he was being honest, Fenris was a bit disappointed at that.  Ever since he’d started his admittedly hedonistic search for new and unique pleasures, he had occasionally thought back to how the mage’s more beneficial spells had coursed along his skin and the lyrium it held. 

“There’s more to magic than healing, you know.  I’m certain what I have to offer will take your mind off of Jethann and his creativity entirely.  _If_ you’re willing to play turnabout, in any case.”  Anders held up his hand, allowing a hint of power to spark between his thumb and middle finger. 

“And that is… Yes, I can see how that might be a stimulating effect.”  Fenris was only just able to suppress the shudder that came along with his realization.  Still, theirs had not been an easy acquaintance, and the elf’s trust wasn’t won so easily.  “Inside, then, and we can test your theory.  But I will give no more than I plan to receive.”

“Than you _plan_ to receive?”  The healer lifted a brow.

“We will see what your little spark is capable of achieving.  If I am willing to take it from you, then I will show you what limits you will place on yourself when you begin to use it in earnest.”  The elf’s tone brooked no argument, and without another word he brushed past Anders, leaving the door open for him to follow.

Upstairs, in the only room Fenris seemed to occupy, the elf lifted his chin and pressed a hand to his neck.  “On the markings, here.  Show me.”

Anders complied, igniting the spark again as he stepped forward.  Gently, he touched thumb and finger against separate strands of the strange tattoo and completed the circuit. 

This time Fenris couldn’t conceal his reaction.  A gasp escaped his lips as the humming heat was carried along his markings, burning a path through the lyrium, setting his skin aflame in a wave that rushed to pool just behind his groin.  The denial that followed was another kind of shock, the cessation of the murmur in his body leaving his heart racing.

He said nothing, reaching for the clasps that held the healer’s robes to his shoulders.  Once freed, Anders shrugged and sent the entire garment falling to the floor, heedless of where it lay. 

Fenris hesitated, thinking for a moment that he wasn’t willing to take much more from the mage than he’d already been given.  Making his decision, he traced a hand slowly along the beginnings of the man’s arousal, teasing through the cloth of the small clothes, eventually reaching with his other hand to push Anders into stepping back and sitting at the edge of the table.  More firmly now, he pressed against the fabric and the length it contained, passing his hands more quickly across the tip, rewarded as the healer’s breath caught and hips began to press toward his touch.

The elf decided to indulge himself now with a sensation he’d learned to enjoy since Jethann.  He deftly tugged the firm band of the fabric down to hook it under the healer’s balls, knowing from his own recent experience the added pleasure that pressure would bring.  Before Anders could react, the elf knelt at his side and placed his lips around the man’s shaft, teasing with his tongue back to the tip and stilling there, waiting for the healer to press his hips upward in a plea for more.

Satisfied his ploy was effective, Fenris reached up to take a firm hold at the healer’s base, drawing his hand up to his lips and beginning to move.  When he had found his rhythm, he began to alternate, hand and mouth at varying paces, prompting Anders to roll his hips in a steady counterpoint. 

“Fenris, I’m…”  Anders managed, caught on the exhale as his breathing had quickened.  The elf waited one beat, then two, before pulling his mouth away and squeezing just a bit more tightly to accompany the low groan that heralded the healer’s release.

Whatever came next had better be worth what he’d have to clean up off the floor, later.

As Anders settled himself and readjusted his smalls, Fenris got to work on the complex fastenings for his breastplate, heaving it onto the table beside the man.  Something about the contemplative expression on the healer’s face… “Remember your place, mage.”

“I could hardly forget.  Now, then.  I think reclining in one of these chairs ought to set you up.”  Anders let his lips spread slowly.  “You won’t want your feet under you in a minute, I’m sure.”

Debating trust and logistics, Fenris made up his mind and shed the remainder of his clothing, stretching out as directed.  And then Anders began, again at his neck, sending that current flowing through his body, somehow knowing to retreat just before it became too much.  Hands moving now, the healer pressed the charge at his shoulder, or on his arm, each new touch igniting the elf’s body in wholly different ways.

As the static coursed along his body, carried by the lyrium that didn’t quite reach, Fenris found himself growing almost impossibly hard as the power grounded itself at his groin.  And still Anders didn’t touch, choosing instead to move the spark closer, inch by excruciating inch, the electrifying sensation alone driving the elf closer to the edge before retreating. 

And Fenris realized the mage had been right.  His legs wouldn’t hold him through the advance and retreat of the static waves, rivulets of pleasure rushing to fill the lyrium patterns blazed into his skin.

Finally the healer’s hand pulled back from where it had rested, close enough to Fenris’s length that his body begged in ways the elf never would.  He arched up, hips following the hand that moved away, giving only a nod in response to the blond man’s raised brow and shaking in relief when a hand closed around his base.

For just a moment, Anders held, and then began stroking, firm and sure.  Responding to the urgent movement of the elf’s hips and the sharp intake of breath, he applied his magic one final time, pulling his hand away and drawing a startled cry from Fenris as he spilled over.

It took some minutes for the elf to recover, aftershocks coursing through his body and calling forth shudders as his breath steadied and his heart slowed.  By the time he was ready to sit up – thankful he didn’t try to stand, not right away, the way his blood rushed to his head – the healer was fastening the last clasps of his robe and moving toward the door.

Unsure how to express himself – or, for that matter, what to express – Fenris could say no more than the mage’s name.

Anders paused at the door and looked back, one corner of his mouth drawn up in an imitation of the elf’s usual amusement.  “If you’ve settled on a favorite, you know where to find me.  Just know I don’t share with the Rose.”


End file.
